darla hadn't spoken to gus for a month now, and he began to get wary.
he refrained from telling his mother, because quite frankly, he'd prefer if she didn't know of his social life, hence the fact he was only eight, and a social life was hardly underway.
that night he slinked by his window and rested his head and forearms against the sill, gazing into the night sky as it slowly slipped away, like wisps of a dream fading into a field of oblivion.
he wished he could be among them, and their nature. he wished that anything would happen. he even wished peter pan would fly by his window in the next few moments and take him to the stars.
it was a dream, those known to him would say, that kept a special, significant place in his heart. he was scared of losing it.
he was scared he would grow older and forget about the stars. and darla. he was so goddamn scared it shook the bones under his skin.
now that he'd lost darla, he was afraid of losing the stars, too.